


Phantasm

by hyakinthos



Category: Vassalord
Genre: M/M, cherry is having trouble dealing with the fight they had with barry, set during their time at alford's house, this is really fucked up, warning for emetophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyakinthos/pseuds/hyakinthos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And when he got a second to think, the images would come back, repeated, never moving, like frescoes on ceilings painted long ago."</p>
<p>Cherry's dreams grant him no quarter after the fight with Barry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantasm

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I have written something that has a lot of potential to be very triggering, and so I'd like you to take a moment to make sure you are okay with the content you are about to see. We're both here to have fun, and I don't want to give anybody a bad time.
> 
> This fic contains graphic descriptions of intrusive thoughts Cherry has concerning sexual violence against Rayflo, and these images cause him to panic and eventually vomit.
> 
> If you're fine with this, I hope you like it, and if you're not, I'll write something fluffier for these two soon.

He had dreams about it for a long time afterwards, feverish dreams, dreams that left him sitting up in bed with his spine so straight he could have balanced the unabridged goddamn Encyclopedia on his head. His teeth ground, and he had to consciously prevent himself from growling and ripping things like bedsheets and tracheas.

And when he got a second to think, the images would come back, repeated, never moving, like frescoes on ceilings painted long ago. Flashing in his mind's eye, instantaneous really. He would have been impressed at how detailed they were if they didn't make him want to hurl that- that- that _motherfucker_ back into the most abyssal possible hell.

Black hair. White hair. Skin smoother and whiter than the marble of a Greek statue and skin the exact shade of over-milked coffee.

And it was really only fair that these aberrations made him want to tear that pretty heathen _asunder_ like the city of Gomorrah. That monster had a set of claws he loved more than anything else, and in those tableaux Cherry saw…

Blood, more blood than Cherry ever wanted to see, pouring out of gorges in his Master's body. It coated them, all over their faces, enthralled and terror-stricken in equal measure. Gashes and gouges and holes… That hellion _delighted_ in all of them, would have straight-up _rolled_ in them if he could have, but no, he had to settle for the feel of viscera and slack muscle on his hands and in his deadly-sharp grinning mouth.

But the worst of the images, the ones that wouldn't go away when he turned on the lights, that haunted him all day and were getting so vivid he feared he might see it stretched before him whenever he opened a door, the ones he wasn't able to shove away, were the ones in which there was _cum_ in his Master's eyes.

And those were what brought him to his feet, compelled him to half-stumble to the solid inch of plate glass that separated him from his Master, just to claw at the barrier, just to be certain he was okay, just to stammer through explanations, comforts, _anything_ that would fall out of his mouth. Coherent or otherwise.

Even the slightest mental glance at them _gagged_ him, made bile come up to scratch at the back of his metal throat. He wasn't sure if he could have stopped these _atrocities_ before he did, and even then he wasn't sure if that was on him or on his Master. But still, blaming himself was habit enough by then to be called a tradition, and he shouldered it all the same. Cherry coughed out every apology and every drop of blood-tainted acid that clamored to leave him, and he secretly prayed that his Master wouldn't wake up and see him in such a _pathetic_ state.

Cherry would sink to his knees and sit there for hours, promising himself in thousands of different words that he'd _never_ let it happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
